Stupid Little Crush
by deathbyinsomnia
Summary: Peter Parker: friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Wade Wilson: merc with a mouth. Not exactly a recipe for a smooth crime-fighting partnership- Especially since Wade won't stop hitting on Peter. Also featuring Daredevil trying to be a buffer.
1. Looking for a friend

Peter Parker woke up to the start of another day covered in old cuts and new bruises all gained in the responsibility he held as Spider-Man. It was Sunday, his only day off from work at his day job.

Sunday tended to be devoted to the only consistent day off from work at The Daily Bugle and the only time he could set aside to clean his apartment, get groceries, and follow through the other mundanities of adulthood which were constantly made a lot more difficult by being a vigilante superhero.

His alarm clock, in glaring red light, told him it was noon, the latest he'd slept in in three months without a spidey-emergency or a family arrangement with Aunt May. Glancing at the fridge of his studio apartment, he noticed the list that stated he was low- or out of, (he honestly stopped keeping track)- milk, bread, lunch-meat, pretzels, and a dozen other items from toilet paper to disposable ink pens. Today was going to be a long day.

_**...DPxSM...**_

Wade Wilson woke with a start, his phone blaring an obnoxious siren ringtone with the repeating phrase "douche bag is calling" every few seconds.

Picking up the phone, he answered it with a hint of irritation, "What?"

"Got a job for ya, an old guy living outside of Hell's Kitchen, his kid needs him dead for the insurance money. He wants to meet at some boxing ring there."

"You know I don't take-" he started, before the voice cut him off.

"Did I mention the kid is going to college to become a social worker and his dad has loads of thrown out cases of sexual assault against a minor, 3 counts of which were against his own son?"

"In that case, I'll be right over. Heat me up a burrito while I'm on my way?"

"What do you think I am, your mother?" He grumbled, "Yeah, sure. Make sure you bring me money for the burrito, your tab is getting really stupid-big at this point."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you a hundo and we call it even, okay?" Wade smiled, perching the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled his combat boots on. Lately, he found himself even taking naps in his suit. Things had been busy lately in the mercenary business and he liked to be ready for money at a moment's notice.

"Did I mention there's a guy asking around about you, well- Deadpool, actually. Not Wade."

"Was he cute?" Wade grinned, his boyish expression exaggerated at messing with him. Wade was amused as Weasel sighed irritably.

"I don't know, Wade. I don't swing that way." Weasel uttered defensively.

"Wow, I didn't know being straight made you blind, Weez. You should get that checked out." Wade pulled on the Deadpool mask, checking himself out in the mirror.

"Hurry the fuck up, Wade, you got a customer waiting. " Weasel hissed, hanging up on him.

"So hostile today. I'll go take care of this first, _then_ go see his happy ass." Wade walked out the front door of his shitty apartment. He even swung his arms as he walked, almost as though he was in an old Mickey Mouse cartoon.

"It sucks to be- as the kids say these days- 'nerfed' by a giggling, also mildly fucking creepy, anthropomorphic mouse. Good thing that won't happen to me. You'll defend my right to drop the F-bomb, right, guys?" He says, gesturing his hands in beckoning to you, the reader, then turns the corner into an alley not far from Hell's Kitchen.

(We skipped the taxi ride to Hell's Kitchen for the sake of your boredom, you're welcome.)

"Don't worry," Wade Wilson/Deadpool assured, "the author won't do this often. In fact, she might never do it again, but it'll only be for comedic relief. It'll be like Jar Jar Binks, but tasteful and at least a _little_ less blatantly racist. We'll have to see."

Upon rounding the corner, Fogwell's Gym standing in an area surrounded by industrial smog. A single person stood outside, talking in hushed tones on a cell phone, his tongue clicking in distaste as he put out his cigarette.

_Really lives up to the... foggy name,_ he thought to himself. _Yeah, nothing like inhaling noxious factory fumes and cigarette smoke on a Sunday morning._

The person smoking returned inside and not seeing anyone waiting in their car, walked inside the gym. Wade was not noticed at first, he managed to visually scan half the room before a kid hitting a rapid bag noticed him and missed his next hit, knocked back painfully on his ass.

The room started to notice him as they all looked to the kid who fell over, then finding the cause. The first person who talked to him, though, was a person lacing up his shoes, not even looking at him.

"You're new here. What do you want?" He asked, Wade giving him an odd look until realizing the guy was blind.

"Uh, looking for a friend of mine. Looks like he isn't here." Wade was suddenly fully aware of the blind joke he made that morning and temporarily felt bad for it.

"What's his name?"

"No idea." Deadpool admitted, "It's a mutual friend."

"Well, in that case, you should leave. Judging by everyone's reaction, you aren't welcome here."

"That's pretty harsh words from someone who can't even _see_ me."

"Yeah, I can't see you," He admitted with a chuckle, turning up his chin to nearly look him in the eyes with his darkened red shades, "but I _can _hear you and you sound like trouble."

"Sounds like bullshit but alright, I'll leave. Any chance you know somebody here, college kid, wants to be a social worker?" Wade asked, watching the guy with interest as a look of recognition crossed his face.

"Yeah, his name is Grant. Did he call for you? You don't seem to be much of a pro-bono kind of guy." He responded.

"Do I know you?" Wade asked, leaning down to level with his face and looking closely at his face. Yeah, he was blind, wasn't faking. Nice blue eyes, though, he mentally noted, and slightly mussed red hair.

"You're uh, what's the name, Dead Pool right? Gun for hire?"

"Yeah... And you are?"

"Matt Murdock," he had a tight expression, standing and holding out his hand some to shake. "I was Grant's lawyer, that is... before he decided to take matters into his own hands by hiring you, I'm guessing."

"Sure." Wade nodded, looking at his Hello Kitty wristwatch, "Nice to meet you, anyway if you see the kid tell him he knows where to find me. I need to go see a guy about a burrito. See ya."

He took his time leaving the building and ducking into a public bathroom to change out of his costume. After he had changed and was headed to the bar, he wondered about the odds of some lawyer's case being both of their "clients". Low, he figured, but if the kid needed money and wanted his dad dead for it- it made sense he wouldn't have the money for a lawyer outside the Kitchen. Either way, he had a burrito calling his name. Hopefully, Weasel actually cooked it right this time.

-  
**_A.N._**  
**_Should I continue or no?_**  
**_I know there's not much here but not really sure if I should waste my time lol_**

**_For reference, I'll be drawing on comics for looks; the show Daredevil, the Spiderman movies, and the Deadpool movies for personality/lore._**


	2. Dig in, ya filthy animal

Bursting in, costume safely put away in his backpack he sat at the bar with a dry smile as Weasel unceremoniously dropped the plate with the burrito in front of him.

"Dig in, ya filthy animal," Weasel groaned, rolling his eyes, "Don't forget about your tab!"

"Yeah, yeah. We'll get to that Weez. Have any tabasco?"

"Not for you, Wade, I don't. For paying customers, sure."

"You're such a jackass, Weez." Wade laughed, getting out a few crumbled bills from his pocket. "Will that cover it?"

Weasel took the bills and straightened them out on the edge of the bar then proceeded to count them, "You're short fifty bucks."

"Ok, tabasco now, and after I finish I give you the rest." Wade instructed.

"Have I told you lately that your head looks like a fat toe that's been in the water too long?" Weasel asked, handing him the bottle.

"Nope, that's a new one." Wade smiled, pouring the rest of the bottle's contents on his burrito. "So you mentioned someone's been looking for me, well Mr. Pool, so spill the beans. Who is it?"

Wade proceeded to take a large bite of burrito and chew it as Weasel tried to help another customer sloshed out at the end of the bar. When he came back he leaned back against the liqour shelves and thought for a moment. Wade took this brief moment to eat the rest of his burrito.

"Well, this kid looked young but could've been drinking age- didn't really check since he didn't order anything. He had brown hair, uh just a bit short of 6 foot, jumpy demeanor, and like these gold-green hazel eyes that were like _wow_ and-" Wade interrupted him with a face-cracking smile.

"Seems to have left quite an impression." Wade smiled, "Got any useful information, though?"

"Yeah, sorry. He was asking for Deadpool, specifically. Said he would visit every couple of days if he would meet him here, and to pass the message that he can refuse to meet but that he 'really would like to meet him if given the chance'."

Weasel left Wade by himself for a moment to clean up a couple of tables. Coming back with his arms cradling a few glasses, he muttered to himself how no one in their right mind should be out drinking this early, before scanning the room and keeping further thoughts to himself. By the looks of the few people there, they looked like they needed the alcohol.

"Now, did he say anything else? Like _why_ he wanted to meet me. I mean, I can hope he's a fan but it's unlikely."

"Oh! He was on the phone when he came in. Mentioned a name, a Mister uh... What was it? Started with a J... J, uh, Jameson, that's what it was. Said something like he was 'working on it and will be getting pictures to him soon', maybe he wants to unmask you?"

"Like Bullhorn Jameson? That guy who goes on the radio sometimes? The people who wanna know who I am already do, so worst thing the kid could do is post a nude photo of me on their website and let's be honest, giant flesh-prune or not I am nothing to be ashamed of. I've been keeping a lower profile lately so it's not like I have a trail of bodies to follow."

"Lately," Weasel corrected to which Wade shrugged. "He seemed pretty nervous when he had come in last night. It was past 7pm so all the night crawlers came out, but I don't think he was scared of them. He seemed nervous, though, about something. Maybe about the fact this Jameson guy was calling him after-hours to bust his balls, at least that's what the yelling from the phone kinda sounded like. You can keep dropping in if you want, or I can always just call you the next time he comes in."

"You do that, Weez. In the mean time, I need to find that kid I was supposed to meet at the gym. He wasn't there. Got a name?"

"No, he seemed very stingey about his privacy. Even wore a hood when he came in. Even tried to change his voice, he sounded like he was trying to do a half-baked Morgan Freeman impression."

"Well, I met his lawyer. Can't be too hard to track down a pro-bono, blind, ginger lawyer in Hell's Kitchen."

"You've had one interesting morning." Weasel smirked, "Get on it then. Send any updates my way. Also, get me a card for that lawyer, one of these days I may need one."

"Can do. Let me know if you hear from this kid that wants to meet me. Maybe you can put him on the phone and we can set up a meeting or something."

Wade got his stuff together, paid the rest of his tab and started making his way towards the heart of Hell's Kitchen by taxi, maybe he could find the lawyer by asking around a bit. He didn't like using the internet for these kinds of things, but if he didn't figure it out by word of mouth after walking up to three strangers he'd just go to the nearest library and google the guy.

Taking out his flip phone, he grinned at the unicorn stickers splattered all over it before flipping it open. He checked the time before stuffing it back in his pocket and jogging the rest of the half mile to the library, wondering about the guy who was looking for him.

_Can't believe Weez didn't catch his name_, Wade thought to himself, _he's usually pretty good at catching client info. Must have been the 'wow' eyes that did it for him. He is a sucker for a good pair of peepers._

Walking into the library, he got the usual assortment of odd looks. He hasn't worn his hood up much since Vanessa's death. He felt no real need to hide his scars, it's part of who he is, after all.

Hunched in the small library seat, he found what he was looking for quick enough. Thank God for all the sympathy-snatching headlines like the ones Matthew Murdock had.

" 'Daily Bugle Exclusive: Blind Lawyer in Hell's Kitchen Helps Those Less Fortunate With Their Pro-Bono Work'," Wade read aloud. "Wow, didn't hold any punches on the sap in the article either, jeez. You'd think they saved a burning house of kittens or something. Wonder if the kid looking for me has a profile on this site, if his boss is Jameson maybe he has a credit somewhere. Not much to go on, but I'm sure I'll figure it out."

After over twenty minutes of looking through links on the home page, he spotted a link to an article titled 'Spider-Man Signs Autographs at Local Superhero Fan Convention' and rolled his eyes.

_What a goodie-goodie, _Wade thought to himself. _Never crossed this guy's path before, but if the news is right this guy is a real people pleaser._

Clicking on the link, the photo blew up to it's full size and Wade grinned. "Nice ass, though. He must do lots-a squats."

Scrolling down, the page suggested other Spider-Man articles to which Wade whispered, "Well, yes please."

It took about five posts before he noticed a pattern, "All of these are good... Every one of these have a poster boy angle. Looks... framed? Photo credit to... Peter Parker?"

Going back to all the articles he looked at, they all bore photo credit to one Peter Parker. Out of curiosity, he searched the on-site search bar and the only credits he had were all photos of Spider-Man. Every single one, in fact, except one. A picture of him, well Deadpool, and Russell aka Firefist taking a walk after the night of the "big fire".

"Well, that's the odd... 'Tender Moment Between Deadpool and Mutant Youth' " Deadpool read quietly, looking close at the picture. "Doesn't have many hits on this picture... doesn't have an article attached either. And to only have one photo subject, with only positive press pictures, followed by this. Jameson is far from pro-hero, wonder how he gets away with it. And how in the fuck did he get that picture of me and Russell? Gotta find this Parker kid, and get him to take this down. Russel needs his goddamn privacy, sure as shit won't get it from the academy."

Scrolling to the bottom of the page, it gave a phone number to the Daily Bugle office. He dialed the number and leaned back in his seat as he waited.

"Daily Bugle, how can I direct your call?" A lilted female voice sounded on the other end. Young, probably useful.

"You got a kid there named Peter Parker?" Wade asked, looking at the clock. He still had an hour or two at least before the lawyer would likely be taking lunch.

"Yes, we do. He isn't here at the moment, but he will be in later. Can I take a message?"

"Sure, uh, tell him I've got some picture opprotunities for Spider-Man he may be interested in." Even as the words came out of his mouth, he realized how corny it sounded.

"Absolutely. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. Can I give him this number?"

"Yeah, sure. Tell him to hurry though, I don't like waiting."

"Yes sir," she chimed. "Have a great day."

"Yeah, you too." He muttered before closing his cell phone.

He stood and made his way out the door before taking a glance at the sky. The clouds darkened as a sign of approaching rain. He picked up the pace walking back towards Hell's Kitchen.

**...DPxSM...**

Peter's phone rang while he was on the subway, unable to hear it he went about his day. Wasn't til a few hours later he noticed the message and gave it a listen.

"Peter, this is Emily at the Bugle. Some guy called asking for you saying he had 'photo opprotunities' for Spider-Man, I don't know. He had a weird vibe on the call, but it must have been urgent to call us on a Sunday. I'll see you tomorrow, I'll text you the number on your cell phone, bye." The voicemail ended after a moment of her fiddling with the reciever.

_Sounds like a threat_, Peter wondered, checking the phone number. _Unfamiliar number._ Maybe someone knew his identity? Unlikely. He'd been lying low for a while outside of the few good deeds he took photos of for the paper. Maybe someone found out he was out going to sleezy bars looking for Deadpool. He hoped not. But if so, why mention Spider-Man?

**...DPxSM...**

Wade, now dressed in his red suit, entered the small office without knocking, much to the worry of Foggy who tried to get an explaination from him before plopping himself across from Matthew Murdock who sat at his desk pleasantly, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"Ah, Deadpool. Nice to see you again. Need something?"

"Nice to... uh, see you too, Murdock. Anyhow, was wondering if you could give me the name of that kid we were talking about this morning. The one you were going to represent. He was looking for me but never left any contact info, was hoping you could help me out with that.

"I'm afraid I can't," Matt blinked quickly, tapping his fingers anxiously against the desk. "He was found dead not soon after we met. No details have been released, but the police found my card on his body and called me."

"That's... not good," Deadpool looked sideways, suddenly uncomfortable. "They have any leads?"

"Outside of you and his father, I wouldn't know. Nice boy, well liked by the community, even volunteered at homeless and domestic abuse shelters." Matthew leaned forward, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. "But you didn't kill him, did you?"

"Nope. Wasn't me." Deadpool shrugged, "Surprised you aren't pointing a finger at me. Mercs tend to get a bad wrap."

"Well," Matt leaned back again, "I know your exploits well enough. You don't seem the type. Besides, law enforcement knows your identity so they would have snagged you by now if they suspected you. Don't you think so, Wilson?"

"So creepy, switching to last names all of a sudden. Yeah, you know who I am. So what?"

"So. We're both involved in this, I think we can help each other."

"I'm not exactly a law-abiding citizen, Murdock."

"I'm not always, either, you know. Anyway, think about it. If my hunch is right, I may need someone with your... skill set." Matthew smiled, reaching out to hand Wade a business card with his personal number scrawled on the back. "If you agree, I can assure you I can be useful in an investigation."

"Seems shady, but okay." Deadpool stopped as he was walking out, peeking his head back in. "By the way, how'd he die, anyway?"

"He was set on fire and burned to death."

**...DPxSM...**

The thoughts swirled in his mind as he put away his groceries. Once he finished, he started at his phone a few minutes before giving up.

"I'll just call them then. I'll make it a private call." Peter assured himself he would be fine as he dialed the number. _Be polite_, he told himself, _it'll seem less suspicious_.

"Hello?" The gruff voice answered.

"This is Peter Parker, you left a message for me? Sorry that I called back so late, I have the day off today." He sat on his bed, looking out his window and suddenly missing being young enough for Aunt May to return his calls for him.

"Ah, Petey. Need to meet you in person, buddy. Need to talk to you about something."

"About what?"

"Why you're taking pictures of Deadpool without his permission, for one?"

"That was months ago, why now?"

"Because I just saw it, and I want it down."

"Are... are you Deadpool?" Peter asked, wonder laced in his voice.

"Yeah? What of it?"

"Funny enough, I've been looking around for you. Going into some real shitholes to try to locate you."

"Hey, one of those shitholes is _my _shithole, show some respect."

"Right. Anyway, how about this? I will gladly take the picture down if you meet me in person."

"Right now? It's raining sheets outside." Wade groaned on the line. "Sure. Where?"

"Meet me outside the Astoria movie theater in Queens, do you know where that is?"

"Give me an hour." Wade grumbled before hanging up.


	3. I'll show you mine if you show me yours

Wade arrived at the meeting place, dressed in the red suit and feeling a little irritated, but overall intrigued. He managed to find the person he was looking for through a near-impossible coincidence. He checked his watch a few times before he was approached by Peter Parker.

He was pretty accurate to how he was described. He was about 5'10" with slightly unkempt brown hair, and hazel eyes that fit the description of "wow" quite well. Wade felt a smile curl up the corners of his mouth when Peter was reluctant to speak first. He shifted from foot to foot aimlessly until Deadpool introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Deadpool. Nice to meet you. I'm here, so what do I have to do to get the photo taken down? He's just a kid, so I'm sure you understand why I don't want pictures of him floating around like that when he still isn't out of the academy or in the public eye."

"You're direct." Peter rolled his eyes, scuffing his foot. "The reason I made this deal is because there are some rumors going around about your friend in that picture... And, frankly, I'm curious if they're true."

Wade's eyebrow rose dramatically, showing the movement even through the mask, "Could _you _be a little more direct, Petey? We need some plot progression here."

"What?" Peter furrowed his eyebrows, eyes squinted in confusion.

"Go on."

"Well, uh, this kid," Pete took out a photo and showed it to Deadpool. A photo of Russell, out of X-Men garb, posed for a mug shot. The boy looked older since Wade had seen him last, the date on the mug shot confirmed it- the photo was recent. "He's the prime suspect in a series of arsons and the murder of an individual whose name they haven't released to the public yet."

"If it's not released to the public yet, how do you know about it?" Wade asked pointedly, bending down a little to be eye to eye with Peter.

"The Bugle has it's connections. Besides, I have a personal interest in this case." Peter admitted, stepping back some to regain some personal space. A small blush of discomfort covered his cheeks.

"What kind of interest?"

"The kid is a future recruit for X-Men, as I'm sure you know. I think he's being wrongly accused, maybe even framed, but I can't prove it, not by myself. I need your help." Peter was not begging, but he did seem genuine about wanting help. "I'll delete the photo regardless, whether you help me or not, but I wish you would help me."

"Why do you care?" Wade asked, "Russell never leaves that damn academy so I doubt you two know each other. Why do you want him to be cleared, then?"

"I know what it's like to be accused of things you would never, ever do. I am doing for him what I would want someone else to do for me." Peter pulled up an employee interface of the Bugle and deleted the picture while Wade looked on. He then put his phone back in his pocket, and looked at Wade with a hesitant expression.

He sighed, "I'll help. Seeing as my last job wound up sizzled, looks like I have free time. That is probably what they're trying to pin on him, too. If that's the case it'll trace right back to me anyway. The last thing I need is a warrant for my arrest, it's bad for business."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief, thanking him, when Wade interrupted with clearing his throat.

"Now that is over," Deadpool grinned, "Why do you only take pictures of Spider-Man? You got a hard-on for him or something?"

"N-no!" Peter sputtered, face red and indignant, aiming to deflect the conversation.

"I'm not judging, Petey. You don't have to see his face to know that he looks damn good under that suit. I would love to have his number for the lonely nights." Wade chuckled lecherously.

Peter suddenly felt really uncomfortable, laughing awkwardly, "It's nothing like that... I agreed to only take pictures with good PR as long as he shows up or tells me when he will appear so I can meet my deadlines."

"So you have his number? Wanna send it my way?"

"He wouldn't be interested." Peter insisted.

"I tend to grow on people, almost like a fungus." Wade grinned. "But alright. You'll be my messenger then. We could use his help on the interrogation side of things."

"He doesn't beat up innocent people-"

"Who said they would be innocent?" Wade grinned, "I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

"I shouldn't," Peter shook his head, crossing his arms. "I have to make dinner and prep meals for the rest of the week. I only came out to see if you'd agree to work with me."

"Can I come over then?" Wade asked, staring at Peter's eyes through his own mask. "I never get home cooked meals."

Peter wanted to immediately reject the idea, but decided he may need to gain his trust. Otherwise, the merc would likely run off on his own and he didn't want anyone to get hurt. Tensing up his fingers, he reluctantly agreed, "Yeah, but can you put something on over the suit? You stick out too much."

"Yeah, okay. Can do, Petey. I'll wait 'til we get close to the station, otherwise we may miss the subway."

And so, they walked. Eventually stopped into an alley where Wade pulled the jeans and baggy hoodie over his clothes. Peter grunted in disdain and pulled the hood over Wade's head once he exited the alley, "Still stick out, but that helps."

"Believe me, I stick out much more when the mask comes off." Wade laughed, although he was entirely serious.

...

After the silent ride on the subway, littered with stares at the two of them, he suddenly wondered what it would be like at work if they heard about them teaming up.

Peter got tired of the silence and began to speak as he unlocked his apartment, "Out of curiosity, what is so noticable about you that the bright red suit pales in comparison?"

"Got any beer?" Wade asked, flipping the hood off and throwing his backpack on the small couch.

Not waiting for an answer, he peeked in the fridge to find only three. He opened one and sat on the couch, watching Peter begin to prep for cooking. He flipped up the bottom of his mask to drink from the bottle.

"Well, I guess you could call it a skin condition." Wade chuckled, "If you call being an overgrown raisin a skin condition. You could pick me out in any 'Where's Waldo?' In under 10 seconds."

Peter did not look back, too focused on preparing the food to notice. Regardless, he didn't like the idea of unmasking others without their consent to do so.

"Then why have you not been arrested, if you are so easy to recognize?" Peter asked, chopping up some raw meat.

"The big boys at SHIELD know me, X-Men know my identity- I'm out of the jurisdiction of small fry cops, for lack of a better term. What are you making, anyway?"

"Beef stir fry," Peter answered, thawing frozen veggies in the microwave. "It lasts a long time and hits three of five food groups."

"Then what do you use for the other two?" Wade asked, trying to remember the last time he didn't eat out of a take out bag. It was nice to have someone cooking for him again.

"Orange juice and some cheese sticks, usually." Peter answered, a bit off guard at how comfortable he felt in that moment. How oddly _safe _he felt, despite standing less than five feet away from a paid murderer. "What got you into the mercenary business, Deadpool?"

"Revenge, but then I realized I can kill some bad guys and get paid to do it." Wade rolled his mask up a tad more, from under his nose to over it so he could breathe better. He looked up from the couch, watching Peter move and his eyes settled on the younger man's butt. After a few moments of staring, he grew shocked.

"It couldn't be... You're Spider-Man, aren't you?" Wade asked, surprising Peter so violently that his forearm touched the skillet and he hissed in pain.

"Why do you say that?" Peter asked, finishing up what he was cooking.

"One of my many talents is that I never forget a face, another is that I never forget a really nice ass and you hiding it under those loose jeans doesn't hide it well enough from my keen eyes."

Peter turned the stove off, turning his back on the food, he had a mix of amusement and bewilderment on my face, "So you have been staring at my butt this entire time, which is creepy, by the way. Then, from that, you were able to identify that my butt is 'identical' to Spider-Man's? So, from your conclusion, that makes me him?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he teased. "Don't look so offended, Petey. I meant, show me your mask and I'll show you my face. Even Steven."

"Let's say I am Spider-Man-" Peter started, interrupted by Wade.

"And by using the hypothetical, implies you definitely are him, but go on."

"Why would I tell you my other identity? I would already be vulnerable by letting you into my apartment and letting you see my face."

"Maybe because barely anyone, if anyone, knows your real identity and it's made your double life lonely or something. Frankly, I just want some blackmail to see you in the suit up close and personal." Wade's grin widened, leaning forward. "I'm surprised you didn't jump when you saw my face. Most people will just see my hands and recoil, but my face is gnarly. How about I take off my mask first, as a sign of good faith?"

Peter weighed his options, he had practically asked for this when he agreed to let Deadpool over. However, there was no real benefit to him to know the mercenary's real identity; killing Peter to keep his identity secret was unlikely to be beneath him. On the other hand, though, he had gotten lonely. With no one knowing Spider-Man's real identity, he has lost what few friends he had and only held Aunt May close anymore.

Deadpool was sporadic, sure. A bit crazy, definitely. Too flirty for comfort, absolutely. But insincere? No. He seemed to really care about this kid Firefist, and Peter wanted to clear Russell's name so the boy could have a shot at a family stability that Peter never really did.

Besides, Deadpool was drawing at straws. He could always have him unmask, then decide whether to lie or not. Couldn't be difficult, he'd talked his way out of similar situations before. Not ass identification, mind you, but somewhat similar.

Or, he could always reveal Deadpool's whereabouts to SHIELD if he turned out to be a threat. Should be easy to find regardless, even in hiding. From what he could see, Deadpool's description was fairly accurate. _Overgrown raisin_, yup.

"Alright," Peter leaned against the counter. "You first."

Wade pulled off his mask without hesitation, without a doubt in his mind that Peter Parker was Spider-Man. He blinked a few times to adjust to the small change in light, watching Peter with interest as his expressions went through a range of emotions.

"So, whatcha think?" Wade asked, "Am I going to win America's Next Top Model?"

Peter suppressed a laugh, "No, but you might be runner up. Probably a lot of pity votes."

"You think saying it's my make-a-wish dream to win, that it'll help?" Wade smiled genuinely, his heart leaping a little at the sight of Peter's laugh.

"No amount of wishing can pretty up that face," Peter grinned, going back to portioning the meals. After he finished, he made himself and Deadpool each a small bowl.

Walking to the couch and giving Deadpool his bowl, followed by beginning to eat from his own. "What's your real name?"

"Wade Wilson, nice to meet ya, Petey." Wade paused eating and wrapped an arm around the back of the chair behind Peter. "Can't wait to see the suit on ya."

"Who said I was?" Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously to the side at Wade.

"Come on, Petey! I won't comment on your butt anymore, I swear."

"You swear?" Peter asked, to which Wade nodded.

...

Against his better judgement, Peter grabbed his backpack and changed into his suit in the bathroom. Upon coming out of the room, immediately followed with a swooning grunt from Wade.

"That's inappropriate." Peter muttered, shifting his weight to one side as he crossed his arms. Suddenly, he felt on display and it flustered him out a little.

"It wasn't a comment on your butt, that's all I swore to. Believe me, there is much more to admire here. _Damn_, Petey." After a moment, he cleared his throat, "Please change back, I can't focus on eating when you wear that."

"Seriously?" Peter groaned, regretting his decision already. Closing the door to the bathroom and locking it, he heard a muffled _yeah seriously_ through the door.


End file.
